#// and I wanna add them and write them

[stealingyourbones]

I desperately need more mentor uncle figures and mentor brother figures in DPxDC to fill the interesting relationship dynamic gap that father figures stories can't always fill are u picking up what I'm putting down. Hell, just a regular friendship relationship with absolutely 0 familial dynamic.

[writingfreezer]

you had been curious about his horns and tail, and dan heng was kind enough to let you touch them. what he didn’t anticipate was how intense the whole situation was about to become.

as your fingers delicately gracing his tail had slowly moved up to his base, his self-control had faltered with it. even though his tail was made out of mostly water, you somehow had found a way to squeeze around it to make dan heng shiver from the contact. you could see how he was biting his lower lip in order to keep the slutty moans that wanted to spill from his mouth to himself.

”does this feel good, babe?” you asked, voice sultry. your inner cheek was almost bleeding with how much you had bitten it in order to keep yourself from smirking at the sight in front of you. dan heng, the usually composed and quick-witted member of the astral express, had been reduced down to a pleading mess.

dan heng opened his mouth to speak but right before he was about to respond, your fingers curled and started scratching the base of his tail. the action made his back arch and he let out a high gasp that soon turned into a drawn-out moan. his eyes lulled to the back of his head and he flooped his head down on your shoulder.

panting, he tried to speak in his usual tone, ”plea- hah…. please, just, um… c-continue, please….” was all he could muster. the absolute desperation in his voice made a shiver run up your spine, and now both of you were biting your lips.

”oh? you like getting touched like this?” the answer was obvious enough that dan heng just settled for letting out a series of quiet moans. his forehead was still planted to your shoulder as he panted, and you snaked your free arm up to pull him close. he quickly pulled you into an embrace, snaking his tail around your waist, earning a soft chuckle out of you. his grip was tight, but not hurting. just perfect.

slowly, your hand left his back in favor of finding purchase at the hem of his pants. you tugged gently at it, giving him a warning, before diving your fingers under the fabric.

dan heng gasped and whimpered at what was to come. his hand moved down to hold your wrist as your fingers moved down, and more down, until you found the hem of his underwear. your scratching increased in pressure as your fingers dived under the next layer of fabric to meet his warm skin.

”please, be ge-” dan heng was cut off by a deep moan as your hand grabbed his cock and started pumping it without warning. this, combined with the scratching, made dan heng louder than he ever has been. it was a surprise no one on the express came barging in.

”i am gentle, now hush. let me take care of you…” you cooed softly into his ear as your pace on his hard appendage quickened. dan heng’s moans increased in pitch and his back arched into your chest, his grip on you tightening as much as he could. you could even feel his tail squeezing your waist, but that was irrelevant now.

as the vidyadhara in front of you continued to moan and plead, you couldn’t help but smirk. seeing dan heng so submissive kindled something inside of you, something that had never been kindled before in the span of your relationship. perhaps you should do this more often.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[spideypoolsupremacy]

(Asking as someone who can't stop cringing at my attempts of smut and will probably never write it)

Also kissing doesn't count as smut. You can argue about it BUT IT'S NOT

Also ALSO I know the answer might depend on the fandom u are reading so let's just answer in general alrighty

Reblog for larger sample size blah blah blah (but like really plz)

[muckyschmuck]

ultimately!

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[awhoreintheory]

okay so MCU canon Peter in DC is all funny and games but what about comic canon Peter? Peter who’s in his 30s, whose life is falling apart(again) and has clones to deal with(man I hate the fact that Ben became evil :(.)

extra points if Miles and/or Mayday is with him. This single dad is STRUGGLING. And the bats wanna help him/his kids cause man! Look at them :(

(extra extra points if Dick = Richard Parker. That’s a whole nother can of worms. Like the bats are thinking Peter = Family of Dick they didn’t know but NO! It’s actually Dick’s son! Dicks a granddad!)

I want to PSA to anyone sending asks/requests, I'm not ignoring you!! I'm just a slow writer!!! I hope you enjoy though <33

Peter B. Parker could, 100%, picture landing in (yet another) alternate universe. You know what? As a matter of fact, he expected it.

What he didn’t plan for, however, was being stranded in another universe with his baby girl strapped to his chest. 

But here he was, crouched in a narrow alley in the darkest corner of Gotham City, New Jersey. From the name alone, Peter knew he landed himself in a section of the Multiverse Miguel had expressly labeled as off limits. It wasn’t his fault he’d landed here, though!

One minute he’d been web-swinging through New York, enjoying a rare peaceful day with Mayday babbling happily, and the next he was crash-landing onto a grimy rooftop in the most dangerous city he’d ever seen. It was like New York turned up to eleven, all shadows and towering gargoyles, dripping with rain that seemed perpetual. The interdimensional bracelet he’d been given to travel the multiverse was sparking and smoking in his pocket— total toast. He was officially stranded. 

Ok, so it maybe, kinda sorta, been an eensy weensy, tiny bit Peter’s fault. 

Peter’s, very high-tech and likely expensive bracelet had been, uh, scratched in a fight the day before. Barely even a nick! He swears he could’ve reattached the wires and fixed the screen. 

He probably should’ve also taken the watch out of his robe pocket before he started swinging Mayday to daycare. 

MJ was going to be so mad. 

It became evident early on it’d take a little bit to find a way home, or for someone to find him. If it had just been Peter, he could’ve roughed it on some rooves and abandoned buildings. It wouldn’t be a big deal, he knew he would be getting home eventually. Being a little smelly was the least of his worries. 

But he had his baby girl with him. 

So, with the money in his wallet, he found an under-the-counter, rundown but otherwise warm, apartment in a place called Crime Alley. (What a seriously terrible name) Peter started pulling together whatever side gigs he could, fixing appliances, tuning up electronics, just enough to get by. Even for a guy who was used to scraping by, the situation felt bleak, especially with Mayday depending on him. 

His little red-headed whirlwind was still too young to understand what was happening, but she noticed the tension and started clinging to him more tightly. Peter knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, but he wasn’t sure how to trust anyone in a city that had both criminals and vigilantes lurking around every corner. When he spotted someone in a cape swinging overhead, he instinctively hid in the shadows, holding Mayday close, her tiny face tucked into his shoulder.

But the Bats noticed him. 

It was hard not to notice a single dad with no records, no job, and no explanation for why he was squatting in Gotham’s most dangerous neighborhood. Bruce, ever vigilant, put out word to the family to keep an eye on him. 

Jason, who patrolled Crime Alley, wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “A guy moved into my turf with a baby?” he grumbled to Tim. “Either he’s got a death wish, or he’s crazy.” 

Tim, on the other hand, was fascinated by the mystery. He dug through every database he had access to, and then some. But “Peter Parker” returned zero results— at least, none that matched this Peter Parker. no criminal record, no birth record, no online footprint. It was like he just spawned in! 

Dick didn’t have a whole lot of opinions. He thought the man was nice, though he had only met him once in a routine mugging. He evidently cared for his daughter, and matched Nightwing’s wit and humor pretty nicely, too. He looked annoyingly familiar too. Maybe it was Tired Dad Chic? He kind of reminded him of Bruce, in a way. 

Steph seconded the funny part. This Peter guy could be one of those dark-humor comedians. 

From what they observed, and conversations supplied by Jason (who was his neighbor in a series of fortunate events), Peter really did seem to just be an ordinary guy.  

Then one night, Peter was picking up groceries from a corner store when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a man in a ski mask brandishing a knife, gesturing for his wallet. 

“Hand over the money, and I won’ hurt ya’ kid.” The man threatened, waving his knife around threateningly. Peter tensed, dropping his groceries in favor of cradling Mayday closer. 

Peter blinked at him tiredly. “The best I can offer is some lint and a can of beans.” 

The man tensed, stepping closer in an attempt at intimidation. Peter thought that his face turning red with anger was kind of funny.

“Don’t fuckin’— are you makin’ fun of me?” The man fumed. Peter might have let out a sleep-deprived chuckle, partially forgetting to respond. 

The mugger lunged, and before he could dodge, Peter felt a searing pain in his side as the blade plunged in, his vision blurring with the shock. Normally, Peter would’ve disarmed the guy without breaking a sweat, but tonight, with Mayday in his arms and his body worn from days of restless sleep, he kind of just… blinked and the knife was there. 

Peter blinked again, then looked back up at the man.

“Oh, wow,” he said, his voice dripping with deadpan sarcasm. “A knife in Crime Alley? Super original. Really, I’m honored to be a part of your creative process.”

The mugger blinked, clearly caught off guard. Peter rolled his eyes, adjusting Mayday to better apply pressure to his side. “Next time you stab a guy, maybe aim for someone with insurance.”

The mugger stumbled back, looking increasingly confused by Peter’s lack of fear. Peter sighed, bouncing Mayday gently as she began to fuss. “Listen, I’m already running on no sleep and the caffeine fumes of yesterday’s coffee. And now you’re just making my night even worse.”

Peter winced, feeling the slow but consistent leak of blood. His healing factor was helping, but it was dulled due to lack of sleep and hunger. 

Between one long blink and the next, someone had jumped down and knocked out Peter’s would-be mugger. 

After another blink Peter realized he was on the ground, Mayday’s wails filled the air, her cries echoing down the alleyway, and Peter tried to smile through the pain. “It’s okay, baby,” he mumbled, clutching her tightly. “Daddy’s fine… just a little… scratch.” But his vision was going hazy as he pressed a hand to his bleeding side. The world began to spin.

One of the vigilantes that Peter recognized as Red Robin rushed over, talking hurriedly into a comm. Peter blinked up at him, his mouth curling into a weak smile. “Hey, nice costume,” he muttered. “Does the utility belt come in dad sizes?” 

Red Robin blinked in surprise, but otherwise keept his focus as he worked to stop the bleeding.

“It doesn’t, unfortunately.” Red Robin offered, popping open his emergency med kit. “I’ve got help on the way, ok? Stay awake for me.” But his attention was snagged when Mayday, overcome with distress, reached out to him, her tiny hands gripping his arm. She wasn’t just clutching it— she was sticking to him, her fingers locked like suction cups on his suit. Tim’s eyes widened as she scrambled up his arm, scaling it like a bug on a wall. 

Red Robin took it in stride, scooping Mayday up as he continued to work. Peter had been on the Meta radar for a bit— a few things here and there just a little off, and it was mostly based on Red Robin’s time spent with super-powered individuals. 

But as he patched up Peter, he discreetly swiped a sample of blood, stashing it in his belt just as the Batmobile pulled up. 

—

Later that night, he ran the sample through the Batcomputer, expecting some small lead. A Meta, possibly insect-based? What with how the kid had stuck to him. Instead, the results left Tim absolutely speechless. 

Peter Parker, the man who was in his early 40s and a single father, didn’t just match someone in the system— it matched Dick Grayson.

Not as a brother, or a cousin, but as a son. 

Tim must’ve ran the test at least 100 times. It came back the same every single time. 

Tim called Bruce and the rest of the family, each of them crowding around the screen with varying levels of shock and amusement as the analysis rolled in. Dick was dumbfounded, staring at the results in disbelief. 

“You’re telling me this guy is my… son?” he stammered, struggling to wrap his mind around it. 

Bruce, socially unaware in all his glory, tried to comfort Dick. “He’s likely from far into the future. Barry said there was a ripple in the timestream around the time Peter showed up.” 

“So what does that make Mayday?” Jason asked, snickering. 

“His granddaughter?” Steph said with a teasing grin. 

“Wow, Dick. You went from a dad to a grandpa in the same minute.” 

“That’s gotta be a world record.”

“You think we can submit this for a Guinness World Record?”

Dick groaned, rubbing his temples as Jason laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“He’s from the future, right? Something must’ve gone wrong on his end," Tim said, folding his arms with a thoughtful look. "He’s definitely got the skills. Moves like you, Dick. It's obvious he's had training.”

Dick couldn't help but smirk, puffing up a little with pride. “Of course he does. He’s got Grayson blood in him, after all.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, because the whole ‘falling on his face with a baby strapped to him’ bit? So graceful.”

Tim rolled his eyes, trying to stay on track. “Look, I don’t know why he didn’t come to us for help in the first place, but the point is, he’s family. We should get him back to his time, if that’s even possible.” He looked over to Bruce. “Are any speedsters available? Maybe the League could lend us Wally or Barry—"

“Hold on,” Dick interrupted, frowning. “I’m not sure we’re ready to ship him off just yet. The guy’s been trying to make it on his own. He’s got a baby to look after, and I think he’s afraid of dragging us into whatever’s going on with him. You know this family and their pride.”

Damian, who had been silent up to this point, finally piped up, his arms crossed. “I’ve seen him with the baby. She’s… persistent.” There was an almost begrudging respect in his tone. “But he clearly doesn’t have the resources to keep her safe here. If he did, he wouldn’t be living in Crime Alley.”

Dick nodded. “Exactly. The guy’s holding it together with duct tape and dad jokes. We can help him and get him back on his feet while we figure out a way home.”

Bruce, listening intently, finally spoke up. “He’s right. Until we find a way to get him home, Peter and his daughter stay here. We’ll pull together whatever resources we can to help them both.” 

Steph and Tim shared a look. He just wanted to meet his grandson and great-granddaughter. 

There was a beat of silence as everyone absorbed the decision, and then Tim looked at Dick, a small smirk playing on his lips. “So… you ready to be a dad, Dick?”

Dick flushed, looking a mix of horrified and pleased. “I’ll just stick to ‘Uncle Dick’ for now. Baby steps.”

EXTRA:

“Hey,” Jason drawled, barely suppressing a smirk as he looked over at Dick, “you think we can submit this for a Guinness World Record? Fastest unplanned parenthood, or maybe most confusing family reunion?”

Dick rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide his grin. “Very funny, Jay. Maybe we can submit you for most inappropriate comments per minute.”

Jason chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just saying, man, it’s impressive. One day you’re Nightwing, lone acrobat extraordinaire, and the next? Boom— you’re the proud father of a scruffy, interdimensional— what'd you say it was, Tim? Spider-dad? A Spider-dad.”

Tim snickered, glancing up from his laptop. “We’re all just living in a 'Strangest Family Reunion’ reality show at this point. Besides, if anyone’s submitting to Guinness, it should be Peter for most relentless optimism under terrible circumstances.”

Bruce cleared his throat, giving them all a look. “Enough. This isn’t a joke. We have a situation to handle here.”

Dick, still grinning, turned back to Bruce. “All right, fine, we’ll save the record-breaking for later. Right now, I say we start by finding this guy and getting him some real help.”

[ciderjacks]

Wip

[gemharvest]

RGB idea GF wiping the floor with BF and Pico in Uno even if they team up against her (she's eating the cards)

"Uno!"

"Jesus Christ, Gee, this is the third game in a row. There's no way you're that lucky." Pico gestured to the girl, holding nine cards in his hand.

"You're just a sore loser." Girlfriend said with a small laugh. "Besides, it's not my fault Biff keeps hitting you with draw fours."

Upon being called out, Boyfriend just gave a toothy smile and shrugged. Pico stared daggers at him; at the both of them.

"It's just starting to feel suspicious, that's all." The ginger grumbled, shaking his head.

"Ska be d'bop."

"Don't you start too-"

A few more moves, and Girlfriend placed down her last card. The game officially over, Boyfriend took the cards to reshuffle for a new one. He hesitated for a moment, then looked at the stack more carefully.

"Ba bo..?" Pico looked over at the cards as well, then furrowed his brows.

"Yeah, I swear the stack keeps getting smaller each game. We're not losing cards, are we?"

Girlfriend felt a bit anxious at the boys' observation, though was able to hold a perfect poker face.

Truth be told, she wasn't that good, or even lucky, at Uno.

What gave her that winning streak? Well, her boys would get distracted easily; staring into their cards with a bit too much focus or giving their phones a quick check when it wasn't their turn. In these brief moments, she would slip a card into her mouth and eat it.

Probably not the smartest idea; though much like Boyfriend, she wasn't really known for them. It was only a couple cards a game, and neither boy paid enough attention to the others' card counts to even notice. As long as she could get away with it, she'd do it.

"It doesn't look that small? Maybe we misplaced a few cards last time we played."

Pico raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't seem to have any desire to argue.

"Maybe, I guess I'll have to keep an eye out the next time I clean."

Nice, they're still none the wiser.

Boyfriend nodded at the pair, before splitting the deck to shuffle. After a few passes, he set the deck face-down, smiling at his work; the boy probably enjoyed shuffling the deck more than actually playing the game.

Cards were dealt, and a new game began. Pico seemed to be putting an effort into paying more attention, so Girlfriend had to go quite a few turns without pulling her trick.

Eventually, his eyes turned to his own cards. Girlfriend waited a moment, making sure he was truly focused while Boyfriend agonized over what card to play himself, before carefully slipping one of her cards out and into her mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Girlfriend froze, card stuck halfway in her mouth. Beside her, Pico's head was still in his cards, though his eyes were raised and staring at her.

Slowly, he lowered his cards and his stare turned into an incredulous look.

"Have you been eating your cards? Oh my god?"

Girlfriend took the card out of her mouth, now crumpled and slightly damp, and held it with the rest of her deck casually; as if she hadn't just been caught.

"Whaaaat, no... Why would I do that?" She spoke, voice feigning innocence. Pico huffed at the lie.

"Bullshit. I can't believe you're trying to pretend you didn't just get caught." Pico scolded, voice more amused than angry. "How in the hell did you even come to the conclusion that that was how you should win."

"Well... It's not like you guys had noticed cards going missing until now."

Boyfriend, Who had been staring silently up until then, suddenly burst out into a fit of musical laughter. Pico and Girlfriend followed suit, not being able to suppress chuckles at how ridiculous the situation was.

While the laughing fit was probably only a few seconds, it felt several minutes long to the trio. Pico was the first to speak after, voice still cracking slightly from the laughter.

"Oh, you are definitely banned from Uno for a while. You also owe me a new deck." He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning as he spoke.

"Awww come on, I promise I'll stop doing it." Girlfriend pouted, giving puppy dog eyes to Pico. "The deck thing is fair though, I'll bring it the next time I'm over."

"Beebop ska doh??"

"Yeah, I'm not budging on the ban. You'll have to deal with the consequences of your actions, sweetheart." He shook his head gently while he spoke.

Girlfriend stuck her tongue out at him, playful yet clearly not happy with the decision.

"Wow, you're so mean to me over just a few cards."

[toastedclownery]

The god hunt/five sun theory started with "why are Tyneen's pirate crew and ship the same animals as Poseidon's court" and three months later it's at "I think Lariat is gonna (try to) kill everyone"

[lullamiine]

went ahead and made 3 more pkmn based twst ocs :>> (making it 6 in total)

I have yet to create an au where yuu gets isekai'd to pokemon instead of disney likee what am I doing-??

[moonchild-in-blue]

Not forgiving yall for making me believe Price was a proper Tired Old Man™. What do you MEAN he is canonically 38/39 💀

and what do you mean Soap is like? 27? sir you are but wee boy. where are your parents.

[toxintouch]

Absinthe & Sugar:

"They" pronouns used for MC, Unspecified background, no gendered language or descriptors used. WARNINGS: MDNI. Suggestive content/non-explicit smut (very little description used). MC is specified to be the receiving partner (penetration) for a round. Exact relationship dynamic is left heavily to interpretation but I'd say skip if you are sensitive to toxicity. ✦Read on Ao3.

The only difference between Leander and the Senobium is the uniforms, Vere said.

The sex isn't quite the way they intended.  Leander is eager, desperate and overly affectionate.  It rattles them, incongruent with the playboy image of a man they thought they were inviting into their bed; the casual escapade they were inclined towards doesn’t seem to be what they received.

They try to exert control—they do exert control, though it feels like a hollow facsimile at best.  He accommodates their whims, accepts and welcomes their harsh treatment even as they dig their cursed nails into his flesh, press bites against his lips when he seeks their kiss.  His eyes never seem to leave theirs, even as they parry and avoid every intimate gesture he offers them.  Their first fuck is rough—a relief—absolution and damnation in equal measure.

They’re high on adrenaline for the second, nerves singing as he sears worshipful kisses against their golden fissures, laces their fingers together with his, murmurs nonsense.

They lose count of the rest.  Their mind is lost in the heat and the sweat, the green haze they wish they could blame on liquor.  It’s a dream—feeling someone so completely, without any of their usual visceral fear.  But it’s a nightmare.  The way they tip their head back to hold back their tears and end up showing their throat, the way they swallow his whispered promises.

Leander doesn’t behave decently.  Doesn’t escort himself out afterwards.  He spends all night crowding them in bed, arms encircling them, his heavy weight trapping them against his chest.  They shove at him, weak and ineffectual, exhausted from the night's activities.  While their eyes droop, fluttering closed against their will, his stare is vibrant, an affectionate smile upon his still-wet lips.  As they drift off they feel the press of his mouth against their temple.  They tell themselves they hate it, lips too numbed with impending sleep to protest aloud.

They mean to rebuke him when they wake.  Deride his terrible etiquette as a one night stand.  Tell him he smothered them with his body heat and hogged the blanket, contradictions be damned.  They spend a long moment internally repeating what they’ll say—studying his sleeping face, the stress he carries during waking hours so obvious now that they see him not bearing the burden.  The moment slips away when he opens his eyes, words momentarily caught in their throat as they admire the color of them, as they listen to his easy pillow talk.  The curve of his smile, the crinkle of his eyes at their stilted responses.  His warm embrace.

He holds them all night only to get on his knees for them in the morning.

The pleasure is so intense, they feel like they’re about to lose their own mind.

They dig their nails into his back when he fucks them, snapping his hips in a rhythm that steals their breath away.  They hold him with the same fervor he held them.  (As if that might be the tipping point—their last ditch effort—they’ve scared away anyone they’ve ever wanted just by wanting—)

And he says it; into their ear: “I love you.”  And his voice is wrecked but he still manages to make it sound like a prison sentence.  “I love you.  I have you, I have you, you can—”

They score a punishing red line down his scarred bicep with one cursed hand, gripping his hair with the other to wrench him away, to make him look them in the face.  He groans low in his chest, eyelashes fluttering—a true masochist—but his gaze meets their own with intent.  He pauses, pulses inside of them but doesn’t come.

“Maybe I have you.”  They spit viciously, though they don’t think they do.

He’s immune to their poisonous tone like he’s immune to their curse.

But they’re weak to whatever he is.  To his soft retaliation.

They try to tug their hands away from his reaching grasp, but he doesn’t even acknowledge their resistance.  He laces his fingers with theirs, saccharine sweet, pressing the backs of their palms into the mattress.

“I’m glad,” he says tenderly.  Affectionate like he has the right, like he’s anything more or less than the worst decision they’ve ever made.  “I want to be yours.”

His absinthe green eyes seem to peer right through them.  

“And you're mine, too…aren't you…?”

The only difference between Leander and the Senobium is the uniforms.

They wonder at the fact that they listened to Vere, believed him wholeheartedly, and still did this.

[eusuntgratie]

wip wednesday on thursday bc i do what i want 😘

haven't shared in a while bc i haven't had time to write but i appreciate all the tags so i'm gonna share a few little snippets of a few things i'm working on. tags below the cut!

guess who tripped and fell into a new fandom? oops. y'all gotta scroll past some 🏳️‍🌈👽 before you get to any rwrb-adjacent words 😏

malex bartender au (roswell new mexico) - hopefully posting soon!

Alex is covering the bar for Maria when he gets stuck, bottle of tequila hovering in between the bar and the glass he’s supposed to be pouring it in. He works hard not to notice people, notice men, but the most beautiful man he’s ever seen is walking into the bar and it's impossible to look away.

malexa 2x06 canon divergence, starting with maria waking up the next morning

Maria wakes up with a crick in her neck. One of her arms is asleep and she’s got a pleasant ache in her thighs.  She's warm, and the bone-deep fear that's been trying to suffocate her for weeks has abated. She takes a deep breath and keeps her eyes squeezed shut when she remembers why.

me? already writing rpf from my new fandom? GASP! please pretend to be shocked - vlamburn + a third i can't decide if i want to keep mysterious or not bc everyone who reads them would know who she is anyway i think?

“Kiss him,” she tells Michael, who finally tears his gaze from Tyler’s face to ask, “why?”.  “Because I wanna see.”  She nods and smiles when Tyler searches her face, looking a little panicked. But then Michael is leaning in close, wrapping his big hand around Tyler’s pretty neck and pulling him in and kissing him like he’s starving for it. Tyler moans and she’s so fucking wet she could shove Tyler out of the way and sit on Michael’s dick right here in front of him, but she keeps still, and watches. The way Michael pulls him closer, the way Tyler’s fingers twitch near his waist.

a little cuck fic update (sensing a pattern? don't worry about it) - taynick, disaster verse

Nick catches himself leaning forward, trying to chase Taylor’s mouth and his touch. He hears a sharp, “stay,” that rocks all the way through him and he slams himself back in the chair. He gets a barely perceptible nod for his efforts. He tries not to think about what he could do to elicit a bigger reaction. He drags in a breath and refocuses on Taylor. At a small gesture Nick barely notices, Taylor bends over the bed again. He is so fucking beautiful. Nick’s not sure he’s ever had the chance to just take him in like this. He’s always so desperate to get his hands on him when they’re alone.

alright that's enough snippets... hopefully i'll be able to get some things finished in the next few months! i miss writing! let me know what you think; i need all the motivation i can get.

thank you for the tags sunday and wednesday!

@catdadacd @firstprincehornyramblings @thesleepyskipper @basil-bird @sparklepocalypse

@thinkof-england @taste-thewaste

tagging @lostcol @bigassbowlingballhead @onward--upward for alien reasons 😘🛸

[queerdiazs]

wip wednesday, teehee

i was tagged ny @eddiediaztho, @hippolotamus, @exhuastedpigeon, @wikiangela, @daffi-990, and @jesuisici33, mwah

have a sorta long snippet of hoa eddie finally starting to figure his shit out. he's a fucking loser. i love him.

Once Buck’s drifted off to sleep, snug and relaxed under the big blanket, Eddie rolls over and grabs his phone off the nightstand. He opens one eye, turns the brightness all the way down, clicks onto the browser, and types am i gay quiz in the search bar.  Dozens of links pop up. He clicks on the first one, marks the answers that resonate the most with him, and frowns when his results of 89% straight flash on the screen with a sullen face.  “What the fuck does that even mean?” he mumbles and then, with a fierceness that crinkles his brow, clicks off the quiz and finds another.  He takes seven more, each a little more deranged than the last, and throws his phone to the hardwood floor when he gets his eighth variation of Unfortunately, you aren’t gay! because he’s upset. It thuds loud and heavy, and slides face up all the way to his closet; the screen shines bright like a little flashlight, illuminating the corner.  Eddie huffs, flops onto his back, crosses his arms over his chest, and pouts.  How dare those quizzes diagnose him heterosexual? Yeah, sure, he has a preference for feminine-presenting people, but he’s had plenty of cock to know he’s not straight, too, and being in heterosexual-passing relationships don’t make him any less queer. He’s worked too damn hard to accept himself, selfishly and fearlessly and totally, to let a few quizzes invalid him.  Which—why was he taking the quizzes in the first place? He knows he’s queer and he doesn’t need a pompous test on the Internet to tell him so, Christ. He’s acting like a lovestruck kid with his first crush on another boy.  The absurdity of the situation makes him giggle. He swipes a hand over his face to muffle his laughter, but his body shakes, so near Buck’s, and it rouses Buck around. Eddie sobers and shuts his eyes, feigning sleep.  It doesn’t work.  This must be how Christopher feels when it’s past his negotiated bedtime of midnight.  Buck murmurs, a pitiful noise, and snuffles close. “Eddie?” He noses along Eddie’s shoulder until he has his face stuffed in Eddie’s throat, right where his pulse throbs. “Wha’s goin’ on? Heard a noise.”  “It’s fine,” he says, wrapping Buck up in his arms and pulling him in, until he’s nearly laid out atop Eddie’s body. His weight feels nice, solid and sturdy. “Go back to sleep.”  Buck smacks his lips, puffs his stinky breath in Eddie’s face, and sighs. ��M’kay.” He cuddles in, nestling up over Eddie’s body like three’s no other place in the world he wants to be, and goes still. “Nighty night.”  Eddie exhales. “Night, Buck,” he says, setting his chin on top of Buck’s head and running his fingers through Buck’s sweaty, frizzy hair.  He looks at his phone in the corner one last time and wonders if there are any quizzes on the Internet that might help him figure out if he’s in love with his best friend before he eventually dozes off, too, wrapped up tight beneath Buck’s big body. 

no pressure tagging @wildlife4life, @watchyourbuck, @callmenewbie, @thewolvesof1998, @try-set-me-on-fire, @shitouttabuck, @folk-fae, @fortheloveofbuddie, @eowon, @giddyupbuck, @honestlydarkprincess, @ladydorian05, @loserdiaz, @callaplums, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, and whoever else wants to share something <3

[samuraiondo-mace-1177]

Currently taking French lessons and doing some study in my free time

Just wanted to know, is there really a "casual" version of French?

(Like, ofc there is, but I can barely find an explanation. Is it contracted words? entirely separate words? (like how Japanese has "Ohayo" and "Konnichiwa" as casual and formal hello) I don't know!)